Watercolor
by fleurdesels
Summary: What do you do when your latest job seems like the common case, but you just know it'll spiral out of control at any given second, and you still won't have found the solution? /grimmjowichigo cop au, summary inside/
1. when i'm staring down the barrel

**title**: watercolor pt one (_when i'm staring down the barrel_)  
><strong>fandom<strong>: bleach. (highly own hardcooked cop au)  
><strong>rating<strong>: pg-13 for now. pg-15 to hard r/nc-17 expected  
><strong>disclaimer<strong>: i own nada  
><strong>warnings<strong>: (future and current) consumation of alcohol, coarse language, explicit violence, sexual interaction, etc etc

**note**: see original post for the (long) note

**summary**: Inoue Orihime's disappearing isn't just a normal case, despite every technicality resembling a relatively common disappearance. Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, on the Missing Person Unit, with newly recruited partner Kurosaki, are put on the case, but might not realize the stakes of the game they're playing until it's too late.

* * *

><p>The roof of his mouth is sandpaper dry, his tongue sticky as all hell. Put a cigarette stump to either and he wouldn't feel shit.<p>

Shower spray on. Cold, that's the secret. Cold till your fingers are shaking and your scalp aches. But it's good. And if it isn't, it's necessary.

When he's done, which is after he's rinsed shampoo out of his hair, and body wash that smells so sweetly of strawberries he feels his stomach lurching, out of his pores. Then he wraps a towel tightly around his waist, shakes two aspirin out of the pocket of his slacks, and steps out of the bathroom.

He feels fucking sick. Much like he's going to dry heave just from the smell of coffee that penetrates the air. And in contrast to the near zero-degree shower he'd just forced himself through it's almost clammy out here.

"How're you?"

Grimmjow shakes his head, pops the pills under his tongue and cranes his neck under the water tap in the kitchen sink. Normally he would've flipped the kid off there. The fuck is he, acting like he has sympathy to give like any charity donor?

Moreover, he'd got none to take.

He turns around and leans against the counter, not terribly concerned with the unknotting towel over his hips, "yeah, fine. Fucking shit, head's killing me."

Ichigo's giving him a thorough once over. Scrutinizing like he's never seen a man keel over to Lady Liqour before.

"What?" he says.

"Nothing. Just, I talked to a guy last night," Grimmjow smirks because really? Ichigo glares now, "and I think he might be of help," he finishes.

"You think?" he says, nodding, "you think. That's good, fer someone your age."

Ichigo growls, "shut the fuck up, wasn't it you who taught me to never assume?"

"And to use your head, you got one of those. You don't think, you don't fucking assume," he levels the kid with a narrow stare, "you _know_."

He knows he's probably being worse than usually, which is an impressive feat in itself. Not to mention a testament to how hardnosed Ichigo is for going with it.

Ichigo gets up, stalking the distance separating them. Grimmjow's pretty sure Ichigo would've grabbed him by the shirt if he'd had one on. They size one other up. Like they're going to draw weapons, or punch. He's hardly got qualms against nailing the younger man in the teeth if he thinks himself superior. But they stop at nothing before it's even passed.

"I just want this done with."

He sees the kid for the rookie he is then. Don't get the instructor who put a gun in his hand, nor the boss man for putting him on the unit. He knows the kid's crafty, and got his head screwed on tightly. But this fucking job ruins everyone.

Grimmjow says nothing in return. Pats Ichigo's shoulder when he steps past to change into something. He's feeling that he's back to normal temp and brains. Guess that works today too.

"Outline it for me."

"Right," Ichigo says. He's bitter. Grimmjow thinks they all are. Or end up it anyway. He never cared much how it made him look outwards, but what really scares the honest crap out of him, is the day he'd end up like Ulquiorra. When you don't feel, just go through the mechanics of work.

He shudders, rifting through Ichigo's bag of clothes. He could still wear the slacks from the day prior, and the suit jacket is - thank fuck - unharmed. But he refuses the shirt he'd worn.

"Shit, how thin are you?" he critically examines every S/M sized shirt he finds.

Kid snorts, "not my fault I don't have your thick bone structure," he mocks.

Grimmjow flips him off, "yeah fuck off, stick. And I asked for an outline. Details, pronto."

"From last night?"

"I fucking guess, yes." He rolls his eyes.

"I think you can cite the bill I had to pay the bartender last night, so I won't hand your faux-alcoholic ass to you again." Grimmjow _tch_'s, but waits for continuation. His partner breezes through the evening, from the chase to the cul-de-sac, and the night. He's surprised at how little comes to him.

He can't make the kid's face out. Apart from the occassional twitch in the corner of mouth and eyebrow, there's a blue around him and he's not shaking it, but not letting it get to him. He supposes their almost fist-tapping had made Ichigo step back again, caught ahold unnecessary emotions.

"Fucking _shit_," Grimmjow bites out. The shirt he throws onto his of their two beds, and starts pacing. "We've got motherfucking zero. Zilch. _Fuck_."

Because they don't. Their girl's still missing, and the last trace they'd physically had, had burnt with the rubber wasted on chasing a shitting Mercedes downtown until they'd completely fucking lost them for fucking ever, given the anonymous car.

Grimmjow throws on the shirt in a fit, and is so irritated with most everything that he pops a button. Of course.

"Asshole, don't ruin my shirts just because you're wound up." Ichigo steps up to him and slaps his hands away roughly. Grimmjow forces a deep breath of air through his nose. No doubt Ichigo's going to complain about his bad breath otherwise.

There's - for once - relative silence, while he's dressed like he's still mama's boy who never done any bad. Kid's fingers brush his collar bone when he examines the torn button.

"You're cold," he frowns.

Another urge to roll his eyes overcomes him. "Yeah, what do you use the shower for?"

His partner mumbles something that he can't catch. He gnaws on his bottom lip. They'd need to get out. Ichigo's all too bleedy when it comes to people he knows. Grimmjow supposes he's come to count among them.

"You already got coffee?"

A nod. "Yeah, while ago. I'll get some if you get the peppermint gum I got on the table." A grin.

Grimmjow punches him in the arm. "Get the caffeine or I won't do shit."

The kid chuckles as he goes. Sometimes it even feels as though their partnership actually works.

* * *

><p>When Ichigo comes back with the coffee Grimmjow's spread most of their equipment out over his bed. There are the licensed guns, maps and thick manila folders of photographies, test samples, profiles and crime scene reports. All kinds of shit, and just that to them - crap. None of any help.<p>

"Hey, what about that guy you think you tapped up?"

Ichigo scowls, "don't '_think_' of anything. What I '_think_' is whether or not he's a any help to us."

Grimmjow nods, accepting the paper mug of straight black as he eyes old news clips and spreads lab reports across the sheets.

"You know where to find him?" Ichigo nods. "Got an address."

Grimmjow cocks an eyebrow in spite of himself. Alright then. Sipping his coffee, he inclines his head towards the mess on the bed.

"I want it sorted, gone through till there's not a thing we've missed. Every fuckin' report, every transcript of witnesses' stories, interrogation tapes, you fuckin' name 'em. I want them gone through _again_ and _again_."

Kid looks vaguely put off. _Dare open the mouth of yours_, Grimmjow mentally challenges. But Ichigo nods. Just like that. No kicking the issue to them dead.

"Call me if you find anything," he presses. Ichigo's practically flipping his eyeballs rather than rolling them.

But he says: "Likewise." And dots the address down in scrawly characters on Grimmjow's palm. Safer than any piece of paper. He goes over the name and number a dozen times before he knows it, and goes to wash the ink from his skin.

His partner says to him when he's half out the door, "I could come."

And he knows he could, but: "I'm not defying captain's orders."

Bone weary sigh. "Aye, sailor."

Grimmjow shuts the door with a tired chuckle. Right.

* * *

><p>It's a shitty neighborhood he arrives at. Bleak houses, pissed on streets and alley ways littered. The wipescreens whip at the rain while he peers out the passenger window of the little Mazda they've rented.<p>

Grimmjow wants to light a smoke. It's an itch in his throat and in his fingertips. A little roils it in his stomach. He can't remember the last time he'd had one. Now, while he kills the engine and sits to observe, it's all he wants.

It's to occupy his thoughts. Since little by little, they're starting to mess with his head. Sure, been on a case for weeks. And last night, it'd all gone to hell. Needless to say, it gets to you. Nobody's immune to thoughts.

He runs his tongue along the top row of his teeth. And thinks for the billionth time: "_how do you manage to just fucking_ disappear?"

'Cause they all do. Grimmjow's on the missing victims unit, all he does is go through this process again and again. Sometimes it's okay, if there's any situation in which it is. But other times it just isn't. It's not fucking _okay_ to have to work with this.

His thoughts wander to Ichigo when nothing continues to happen outside. Boss man had plucked him from the case when it came forth that he was personally involved with the missing person. Grimmjow'd thought it was the right thing to do. Let the kid not work 24/7. Not get trigger-happy, not let him get weary and vow to never have kids himself.

_Because this can happen to them too_. Kidnappers, paedophiles and fucking psychos alike. All of them, you get close to. They'll be breathing down your neck and you'll wake up next to the girl who swore that silly, religious promise to be with you and order her away.

Someone's in a two piece tracksuit, hurrying across the street just in front of the Mazda. Grimmjow peaks up, pushing the emo kid at 15 thoughts to the back of his head and opening the door when Tracksuit's gone in the rain.

There's something in the air there when he gets up. Thick and tense. He checks the gun at the small of his back before he steps tall into the rain.

Crossing the street it's quiet, apart from the weather. A window rattles when it's shut on the second floor of the 6-storey building he's warily walking towards. Otherwise, nothing.

Shit. He inspects the door and of fucking course he needs a pass for getting in. He mentally runs over the numbers in the address. Punches a few combinations with angry jabs. No success.

"Fucking _bitch_." He palms his forehead. The rain smatters against his back, some wets his, or Ichigo's, collar. He tries the numbers again. Cunt. Tries again. Hell.

It's got nothing to do with these numbers. And neither with the numbers in the address letters.

It's useless to try and call to the door. Door phone's broken.

Grimmjow backs into the street and cranes his neck to squint up to the window which had been the closed minutes prior. He thinks there's a silhouette in there.

It's almost so he thinks fuck this and calls up to what's probably a ghost. Rain smatters harder against his neck, back, scalp. Tendrils run down in his eyes and he irritatedly scoops hair out of his eyelashes. He realizes he don't know where tracksuit went.

At first he can't place the dull ringing from nearby. Rain's making it hard enough. It's only faint, but as loud as to make it noticeable.

Shit. Phone.

Grimmjow hauls it up and pushes green just before it's about to go to voicemail. He needs to change it already, he notes.

It's not a number he recognizes, and he frowns as he puts speaker to mouth, "yeah?"

Two things: the tracksuit emerges from the window. Then the Mazda explodes from where it's situated behind him. He's knocked out with what's surely a broken spine and blown eardrums, seeing blind white.


	2. for delirious gestures

**title**: watercolor pt two (_for delirious gestures_)  
><strong>fandom<strong>: bleach. (highly own hardcooked cop au)  
><strong>rating<strong>: pg-13 for now. pg-15 to hard r/nc-17 expected  
><strong>disclaimer<strong>: i own nada  
><strong>warnings<strong>: (future and current) consumation of alcohol, coarse language, explicit violence, sexual interaction, etc etc

**note**: part twoooooooo! important to know about this lest you'd like to feel confused, is that part one was indeed set in the now. this is what's already happened. just trying to bring everything to a circle, yeah? good, now we get each other and can rock onnnn

**summary**: Inoue Orihime's disappearing isn't just a normal case, despite every technicality resembling a relatively common disappearance. Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, on the Missing Person Unit, with newly recruited partner Kurosaki, are put on the case, but might not realize the stakes of the game they're playing until it's too late.

* * *

><p>Inoue Orihime. Then a bunch of formalities. Sex, age, heightweight, nationality, approximate, short description of physical appearance. You name it.

Crime scene report: relatively empty. She disappeared from her home. No hints of violence, or that she'd gone an unwilling. Bed made, no traces of recent sexual activity. No signs of illegal substances or legal prescriptions used in suspicious amounts recently.

There were dishes in the machine, and the subtle traces of the fact that someone had indeed been there if only the night before in a teapot and cups neatly arranged, but abandoned, in the living room.

Photos of the various rooms are gathered in a gem at the very back of the folder he'd received with the rest of the case file.

Grimmjow spreads his elbows on the desk, chin pressed in his palm as he fights sleep and waits for coffee arrival. No sleep last night, getting off a nasty incident involving his car and some neighborhood punks. He'll kill them later. When he's slept. Not these coming nights then.

Shit, where is the kid? More importantly, where's his coffee? He clears junk out of the corner of his eye. Minutes tick by. Clock moves so slowly on these mornings.

He scrutinizes imminent interrogations - girlfriend, doesn't bat the eye there, who'd called. Family - none. He does bat an eye there though. Dots down pointers on a post-it note:

**Dig up family situation (if any)**

**Talk to girlfriend**

There. Door clicks open when he jams his card through the reader. Extra fancy, extra security. Extra headaches on mornings like this one.

"That smells like heaven right there."

"Yeah? Get it for free, only in this office."

He plucks the plastic mug from his partner's outstretched hand. Straight black, big cup. At least his - relatively - new partner always brings him coffee in the mornings. Something that dickhead Cifer never could do.

"We got a new one. Came in this morning."

Kurosaki leans over his shoulder, plucking the manila folder from off of his desk. Grimmjow leans back and into the high leather chair, sipping on the coffee carefully.

"Female around 5'8, native, twenty five years of age, disappeared from her house two nights ago. Girlfriend called in last night, couldn't reach her and she hadn't been home. No traces of physical resistance in the house, nothing around the house or on the property at all—" Grimmjow pauses. Sees Ichigo's frame frozen leaning over his desk. Sees the cup of coffee dropped. Slow mo.

He stands abruptly, sending his chair swiveling. "Christ, what's up with you?"

His partner springs to life seconds later. Coffee's soiling the desk and he looks like it's news. "I didn't notice," Ichigo mutters.

Grimmjow snorts. "No fucking shit." but he gets up and helps the kid move everything he has from the desk before it's ruined.

"I didn't notice," he says, louder. Grimmjow frowns. It's not right. Not normal.

"Kurosaki, what's the holdup?"

Ichigo, now white as a fucking sheet, slumps surprisedly back into his chair. Coffee cold, everything spread over the table. Seeping slowly into the paper towels haphazardly thrown on it.

"It's Orihime."

Heartbeat. Coffee. Muddy paper towels. Realisation. Fucking shit.

* * *

><p>Starrk has Kurosaki off the case in the half of a heartbeat between breaths, no questions. He frowns and studies Ichigo, who's composed now. Grimmjow leans against the back of Starrk's shut and locked door. It's a spacious office he overlooks; oak and bleach, dotted with chrome details. The panorama windows on the 12th floor overlooking the sea are painted, artfully splaying a pack of coyotes crossing the vast, glossy landscape.<p>

"With all due respect, sir, emotions won't get in the way of the primary investigation, nor will it conflict with the honors I work along." Grimmjow has to make himself not snort. Kurosaki is anything but the kid who can reel his temper in when he needs to. Even less when he's asked to.

"This is protocol, Kurosaki. You'll protest, but I won't let up."

"Starrk, Dammit."

The Dept. Chief gives him a sharp stare. _Dare protest_. Of course, this being Ichigo, he does.

"But I—"

"Play by different rules when you're not simply an investigator," Starrk says, monotonous.

Grimmjow tips his head to the side, pops his neck. "Not that we're playing games period," he cheeks. Starrk levels him with an indifferent stare. Grimmjow shrugs.

Ichigo's chair whines when he stands, face set in stone and shoulders stiff. Grimmjow uncrosses his arms over his chest. Not that he's anything but courteous towards the boss man, but if Ichigo's going to start throwing punches, because hey, you don't know with the kid, then he'll step in. For the sake of his pay check, and because he's got Ichigo down to at least so much as to that he'll want to keep his job. Not to a t maybe, but maybe if you uncross it.

He knows the boy'd kill for his family. A real fucking dumb-heroist, like the rest of them.

"You're hereby moved from the case, and relieved from duty until further notice." Starrk turns in his chair to look at Grimmjow over Kurosaki's shoulder. He says nothing. Grimmjow's not fucking stupid. He shrugs, but crosses the room to reach for Ichigo's elbow.

There's a wisp of sunshine rays hitting the prairie wolves behind Starrk, the nuances bouncing. Grimmjow shakes his head, and pinches the bone until Kurosaki lets himself be led out and outside the office.

The kid's masked cool breaks apart well there. He flexes his fists and stares wild-eyed at the momentarily curious agents scuffling towards the end of the corridor, past them.

"Motherfucking son of a bitch!"

Grimmjow raises an eyebrow, weighing the door shut with the ball of his foot. "Creative, Kurosaki."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Make me, someone has to do you in."

Ichigo shakes himself free from the pull and tug of Grimmjow's fingers at his side. Glares rug burns into the pin point between his eyes. "You're not fucking serious."

"I'm fucking serious, dipshit. I'm taking your mind off of things, this is where you learn to say 'thanks'."

"Fucker, I don't owe you shit from what you did in there," Ichigo spits.

Grimmjow absently traces a seam in the pocket of his jeans, walks off. Don't mind the thought of beating some sense into the kid. But he knows he shouldn't, and won't. If Kurosaki's so thick he doesn't realize why Starrk pulled him from the case, fuck the protocol, then he doesn't deserve anybody's fists. That'd be taking pity on him.

"Maybe you do, maybe you don't. Won't bring the girl back either way."

Kurosaki looks like he's about to protest. Like his ribs are pushed up towards his skin to make room for all the fucking protests he'll try to force out.

"Just go home, Kurosaki._ I'll let you know_," Grimmjow says.

Kurosaki eventually agrees. Grimmjow watches him go, sagging like all fight's gone out of him. He doesn't waste a second as he gets to work.

* * *

><p>Arisawa Tatsuki looks like shit when she steps aside for Grimmjow to motion him inside. She's small, sinewy and the shaggy ends of her short cut are limp over her forehead. Grimmjow steps inside, observing the narrow hall. There are large cardboard containers piled along the far wall, and he notes how it echoes when she shuts the door behind him.<p>

"Agent Jaegerjaques, thanks for taking the time." He inclines his head.

She nods. "Of course, anything."

He loosens the tie which is tight around his neck. Not because it's hot, the apartment is hollow and relatively cool. But wearing a suit and a proper tie makes this so impersonal. And despite the fact that he has got no connection to either woman whatsoever, never met them, Kurosaki is damned well on his mind. Not that Grimmjow will do it for the brat, but he can't pretend like nothing never affected him.

"You going somewhere?" he asks.

Arisawa nods. Clears her throat. "Yeah I— I'm moving in with Orihime."

"Am?"

The girl draws a sharp breath. Grimmjow keeps his coat on. He can hear her steps on the carpet, light. _Too light_, he concludes, in contrast to the glare he receives. But that's it. She won't say anything either way about her missing partner. He doesn't comment. He gets it.

"The kitchen is over here," she says, gesturing into a corridor at the opposite end of the hall.

She makes tea. He politely declines when she asks him about a cup. She makes a lot, enough for a full table. It smells sweet. Honey and something else he doesn't recognize. At least a combination very hazardous to your health.

He asks "that a personal choice of flavor?"

She doesn't reply.

"Ichigo didn't call you?" she asks when she sits down opposite him in a worn chair, pushing hair from her brow and concentrating on the steaming cup of tea. Grimmjow blinks. "How'd you make the connection?" he asks.

She raises a thin eyebrow, and motions towards him. "Doesn't take two idiots to make the connection when you've got that hair."

Grimmjow frowns, and runs two fingers through the haphazard mess of blue hair he's got. He still hasn't forgiven his parents for pulling that shit on him, by the way. The whole of his family, that is, for having fucking chimera genes. Honestly, who names a kid Grimmjow when he's got blue hair? That's just a double 'fuck your existence very much'.

"Point taken," he says. "Didn't know Kurosaki had a habit of runnin' his mouth so much about everything, though."

Arisawa shakes her head. "Nah, he doesn't. Only about things which really annoy him. That's you. A lot with how much he really talks about you." Smile. Eyes not seeing. Grimmjow tch's. Fucking kid, he's twice as annoying.

"Anyway," he slips the small notebook and ball pen from the pocket of his slacks, "you mind telling me about the day itself, when Inoue-san disappeared?"

Arisawa grimaces, a subtle muscle in her cheek twitching at the mention of her girlfriend. She clears her throat twice. "You know, I wanted to call that evening. We'd made up some time ago that we'd eat out that night. I mean, since it was our anniversary. Cliché, right?" she forces a laugh.

"Anyway, so I immediately knew she was gone. When she wasn't home, and didn't pick up. She hadn't done so for the entire day. And she wouldn't forget. She's a freak about days, and birthdays and dinners and parties, you name it. Even if she's very whimsy," Arisawa pauses to sip on her tea. She grimaces. "She just wouldn't forget something like that."

"You waited to call?"

She hums in consent. "I know you can't call until the missing person in question has been gone for minimum 24 hours." Another sip. Another grimace.

"And where were you?"

Arisawa motions towards the hall. "Packing. A couple of our friends were helping me round up the last in the living room, so I was practically all set to move over."

Grimmjow switches pages, finishing off the last character in a scribbly, ugly mess. He flips the page over, gnawing on his bottom lip as he scrutinizes the warm, yellow walls. Empty now, except for the pre-installed refrigerator, shelves and cupboards.

Arisawa leans back heavily, her fingers wound tightly around the tea mug. Grimmjow thinks she feels like an energetic persona, but doesn't look an inch of it. But they all do, or don't, don't they? He's seen so many of these faces he can't count. Both when he'd worked Body Identification, and recently at the MPU. Watched kindred come and go, the expressions they all wear won't ever leave you.

"Anyway," he says, "why haven't I talked to Kurosaki? He been here?"

"Ichigo was here this morning, but I told him about what I told you."

Grimmjow nods then, and stands. He can't stand being here longer than necessary. "Once again, Arisawa-san, thank you for taking the time. There's not much I can tell you, t'be completely honest."

She sees him to the door, leaving the tea to cool, the pot still three 4ths full. He's just about to turn, after loosely having shook her hand, when she stops him dead in his tracks. "How come a special unit was put on this case?"

Arisawa's apartment block is built into a gentle fall of asphalt, leading down to the main road. The digression in the road is relatively quiet, but the murmur of traffic is still audible through the open main doorway.

"Your girlfriend's got a real sweet tooth, don't she?"

Arisawa shuts the door. Grimmjow puts it down in his notebook along with the street name and driving directions.

* * *

><p>i adoooore critic. srsly. i don't think i can do this without it hahah dskld;<p> 


	3. i am here for the loyalist

**title**: watercolor pt three (_i am here for the loyalist_)  
><strong>fandom<strong>: bleach. (highly own hardcooked cop au)  
><strong>rating<strong>: pg-13 for now. pg-15 to hard r/nc-17 expected  
><strong>disclaimer<strong>: i own nada  
><strong>warnings<strong>: (future and current) consumation of alcohol, coarse language, explicit violence, sexual interaction, etc etc

**note**: sure took a while to get out, this one. but it's here, part three! it follows the timeline of the previous chapter, by the way. that is to say; from the complete beginning. so just read it as starting where chapter two took its end and you'll be fine

**summary**: Inoue Orihime's disappearing isn't just a normal case, despite every technicality resembling a relatively common disappearance. Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, on the Missing Person Unit, with newly recruited partner Kurosaki, are put on the case, but might not realize the stakes of the game they're playing until it's too late.

* * *

><p>In contrast to Arisawa Tatsuki's apartment block, built upon the regression of road sticking out of the Karakura East Highway like the thumb in the palm, Ichigo lives on the 3rd floor in the middle building to the left in downtown city. Easy to find. Easy to access. Grimmjow shuts the door of his car and locks it and walks up the driveway and uneasily looks back towards it every once in a while. He transcends the stairs and avoids the elevator, looks out for what isn't there.<p>

He notices the bulge of white letters and colorful commercial fliers sticking out of Ichigo's mailbox and grabs a handful and puts his knuckles to the door. Ichigo opens at the same time as a door on the fourth floor is shut. Bang. Click. Grimmjow shoves the letters and 20% discount scam offers into Ichigo's fingers.

"You gonna let me in?"

He does. In a white hood and grey sweatpants. Grimmjow doesn't bother with his coat now either.

"You got a transcript of the talk you had with Arisawa?"

Ichigo furrows his brow. "No, why would I have that? I was there off-duty Grimmjow," he glares, "you of all people should know."

"Whatever. Just tell me what she said to you." He navigates to the kitchen, thinks he spends too much time in kitchens, and opens the fridge. Ichigo's got a few beers standing at the back, but he grabs a bottle of sparkling water instead. Grimmjow gestures towards the innates of the fridge. Ichigo shakes his head, "nah, suit yourself."

"Just did, now tell me." The kitchen table is small and oval and unusual and he places the bottle on it and sits in a chair. A chair of soft wood and the color is bright from the grey light of the sky hitting in from the wide windows where behind them is a round yard. Grimmjow's been to Ichigo's twice. Never forgets a place though.

His partner sighs, "you talked to her, what's there to tell more?"

"You know as well as I do that she'd sure as hell rather cry out in your arms than mine. They talk in private, not with the officials."

"Fine," Ichigo says. "I guess, I don't know. She told me about how she wouldn't call, or pick up her phone. Something about a disconnected number."

"You tried?" Grimmjow asks.

"Yeah, not in service." He looks out the window briefly, chews on a flake of dead skin on his bottom lip. "I guess, Tatsuki would notice if something was up, you know? But there was nothing. Everything normal, and then-" he shrugs as a means of expression. "She was just gone. I know as little as anyone."

"That's because she doesn't know or doesn't tell?"

Ichigo stares at him. "You fucking serious? Tatsuki had nothing to do with it."

Grimmjow challenges. Into the fuckin' rink. "How are you sure?"

"Don't pull that on me, you asshole. I just know, okay?"

"You just know, huh? Just like all the other questionaries who always know." Grimmjow leans on his elbows across the table and challenges Ichigo mentally. Let's go. Round one. Grimmjow knows his partner always shows his full hand, which is why he's doing this by the book. Ichigo doesn't lie, but Grimmjow can't take that for granted about Arisawa.

"I've known her all my life, Grimmjow, she wouldn't fucking hurt Orihime. Not for anything."

Ichigo stands and walks over to the sink and leans over it as if just to lean. He watches his partner and sips the sparkling water and waits. "Alright, fine. File a report to me on precisely everything you know and can find on Inoue Orihime and I'll think about acquitting Arisawa. For now." He pinches the bridge of his nose. Ichigo nods. Thankful. Kid ain't got nothing to be thankful over. Grimmjow thinks his partner should be fucking worried he's giving in this easy. But it's a favor for a favor.

"Where do you want it?"

"You okay with takeout and you can leave it in my outstretched palm tonight and get down on your knees," Grimmjow says.

Ichigo snorts and flips him off. "Get me anything but sushi, fuckin' sick of it."

"Aye, passenger."

"What, no '_Aye Cap'n_'?"

Grimmjow throws the empty bottle at the kid's head and stands and heads out into the hallway. "Just be glad this captain got you a free ticket onto the express boat you shouldn't be on. Now get your laptop." He also catches the kid's barely there smile. And sometimes it just feels a bit too infectious. But then again, this isn't a laughing matter. He heads into the stairs and calls back to Ichigo that he's getting his stuff from the car.

He pulls his coat by the narrow waistband tighter to void the chill in the air. Sky's the same forebode of rain as has been all day. Grimmjow fishes the keys to his Lexus up by the narrow end from his pocket and turns a left to the visitors' lot. Stops. And he stops because he knows his car by heart, can pick out the paint job in a crowd of identical models but the car here _isn't his_. It's a silver Lexus IS 220D of new model, a manual 4 cylinder turbo diesel engine piece, with mocha colored leather seats, and a _new fucking paint job_.

But the car parked in its stead isn't it. It's a dark grey, not silver, and the model is a sleeker sports model. The 250D he'd say without checking up on it. He's not sure what his initial reaction is supposed to be. He's sporting the key between his index finger and thumb and he's even got its fucking dents imprinted in his skin to show it. Nobody has access to a copy, there is no copy.

He flexes his fingers for a weapon at his hip but the holster isn't there. It's in the trunk of his car.

He kicks a crumpled DC can and leans his forehead into his hands. Fucking shit. Hell. What the fuck is he supposed to do. Not only because the car'd cost him a motherfucker out of his preliminary saving account, but because everything's in there. He lives in his car more than he'd like to admit, everything is there.

He hauls up his cell phone and swipes his thumb across green when it starts ringing.

"Nel? I'm gonna need you down here quick as all fuck."

* * *

><p>Nelliel tu Oderschwank steps one Vagabond-clad foot outside the specially issued Jeep and walks up to the door and climbs the stairs all the while Grimmjow watches her through the expanse of window in Ichigo's living room. She has her hair in a thick ponytail and she doesn't seem to mind coming into a house dressed in a lab coat over Levi's and a cashmere blouse and underneath a short bureau officials jacket.<p>

"I understand you could use my expertise in an urgent matter, agent Jaegerjaques?"

"Yeah well, my car's stolen. I figured your department'd come into this no matter what."

Nel regards him with a neutral expression. "You had me come all the way down here because it was stolen?" She hardens. "That's a good way to waste your resources."

"Tch, I'm not stupid, woman," Grimmjow mutters. "I had a case file in there too. And it wasn't broken into, so I've good reason to believe some fucker forged a key. That ain't the profile of a simple car thief."

"Calling me out of my office was a stupid move. I'm of more help if I can access the necessary tools to work on this for you," she says sourly. "I can't put this on top of my priority list unless there was classified information in that car, or in any way confidential material you have reason to believe is publicly sensitive."

"Isn't it top priority whenever we're working a case?" Ichigo interjects.

Nel raises an eyebrow. "If it wasn't you I would've hooked you just there, right underneath your eye, for being haughty."

Ichigo splutters, "I didn't mean it like that, Nel! Just-it's an important case file."

"It's important to you, rather?" her eye softens and her lips curve around a sympathetic smile because she's heard. Grimmjow doubts anyone working their floor hasn't heard.

Ichigo doesn't have to answer because Nel digs her jacket for her iPhone and finds it and thumbs it open and makes a call. She paces when she talks and goes out in the hallway and back into the living room again. In the meantime Ichigo accesses their main database and Grimmjow excuses himself to the balcony with an unbroken case of cigarettes and a Camel lighter. He shuts the door with the sole of his foot and unwraps the package and puts a cigarette in the corner of his lips and lights it. The nicotine is a calming draught to the nerves which are getting to him now. thumpthumpthump. Right there. Ribs expanding and the absolute base of his skull throbbing and the breath out of his nose whining.

He leans against the railing and looks at nothing. Across the yard and onto the next building.

"I'm printing the basic report file, along with the filed police report. There's not much to go by." Ichigo moves around two chairs and a plastic table and doesn't look up at Grimmjow.

He sucks at the cigarette and lets it fall from his mouth and then he turns around to his partner. "We'd be inclined to visit the crime scene," he says.

"Technically-"

"Technically, it is a crime scene," Grimmjow nods.

Nel pushes the glass door open with the tips of her fingers and she leaves small damp prints behind. "I'll have a small task division on retrieving what material you've lost, and put out word for the car itself," she waves her phone in miniscule circles and smiles expectantly.

Grimmjow glares. "What do you want?"

"We'll see about that, agent." She kisses Ichigo's cheek and cheerfully leaves them behind in whistles and the _clickclackclickclack_ of her Vagabond heels and then she shuts the door and it becomes quiet once again.

"Burgers?"

"You need that, agent?" Ichigo asks.

"Just faring for your well-being, _agent_," he counters.

"I didn't know you cared."

"Oh I don't."

"Get my car keys."

* * *

><p>Grimmjow parks a block away and gently shuts the door of the red Toyota Auris and locks it with the key. He waits. Had handed Ichigo a penlight and the spare digital camera he keeps on himself. There were hardly going to be restrictions other than the yellow striped cordon across the yard and front door, and his partner had dug up a spare key to the house. He'd wanted to go in as well, but that's stupid. He's not still in the line of work because of his amazing genius and incentive to always go by the rulebook, but he's a good agent and he can do his work. He's got this far with his gut and a gun, after all.<p>

Neighborhood's perfectly middle class and quiet. Desk rats with two and a half kids and a dog who try and go by the American ideal live here. He's not stereotyping, and if he is it's because the stereotype is based on the truth. Knock doors and collect your percentages, this is what it is.

He thinks of lighting a cigarette but no. He's supposed to be on the quits and it's better to under these circumstances, leave like you came - with nothing. He unlocks the car again and installs himself in the driver seat and turns on the lights above his door. He picks out a book out of the glove compartment and sets to thumbing through pages of Western crim lit.

It's ridiculous but he looks inconsuspicious this way and sits so until the passenger seat opens and Ichigo climbs in again.

"Say you had a cell without a SIM-card, but a battery and internal memory intact. Would you be able to track anything off of it?"

Ichigo holds up an old Motorola flip version with minimum scratches and a dead screen. Grimmjow reaches out but withdraws his hand again and bites his lip. "That hers?" he asks.

Ichigo nods.

"Suppose we'll give it to the lab. Anything else?"

"I don't know," he says. "I-maybe?" he grimaces and sounds unsure and looks out the window.

"It'll do for now." Grimmjow decides.

They drive by a cheap drive-in burger joint in the area and he orders the special menu and a milkshake. Ichigo is silent but makes that two by holding up his index and middle finger. The cashier is gnashing a chewing gum between her slightly chipped teeth and wears the hat with the restaurant's logo on backwards and doesn't look either of them in the eye. They receive their food and continue down the road to Ichigo's apartment. Nothing has changed.

The Lexus is parked with the front tyres the left and Grimmjow doesn't think more about that, only that he's hungry. The private parking lot is empty save for them and he sips his milkshake and locks the Toyota with great care underneath a greenish streetlight.

They eat on the couch with the TV on but muted. Ichigo hauls his laptop into his lap and empties the digital camera on its memory card and slips it into the holder on the side of the computer. Grimmjow sips his milkshake. Tastes like shit, truth to be told. It's quiet and only the laptop whines and mutters.

"Can we assume the door was forced open by the police?"

Grimmjow furrows his brow. "Guess so. Although the report would've told us there were no signs of breaking and entering, right?"

"Because it was. Bent open, I mean. Off its hinges."

Grimmjow opens his mouth around a fry. Crack. Knock. A sharp series of knuckles against the front door.

* * *

><p>reviews, i live off :D<p> 


End file.
